Numbers 9 inches of solid cock pound inside my ass and Dante's breath hits hard
on my ear. He pushes on the backs of my thighs to lift my ass a little more. He's got me just where
he wants me, and he straightens his back and legs to take advantage of my vulnerability. My ass is
completely open to him as my knees bear down against my shoulders. He slides his cock effortlessly
all the way in and all the way out of my bowels, and his breath gradually transforms into a loud
rasp. He relaxes then, and brings his own knees down to touch the mattress. He releases the
pressure on my thighs, and I lock my ankles together to make a circle, a wedding band, or better
yet, a cock ring. He pushes gently into me and pulls out slowly, allowing me to tighten my ass-ring
purposefully around the head of his cock. Without my realizing, he finds some secret pivot and
begins to rotate his hips slowly, causing his dick to etch circles into my flesh in the opposite
direction. He only stirs his cock inside me a few times, because he knows it drives me crazy.
Throughout this entire session, I keep my right hand wrapped against my slick cock. It wants to
burst, but I won't let it. I just slowly stroke it as Dante's fucks stroke my prostate, simulating
an orgasm with a never-ending flow. My precum drips down my smooth-shaven balls and sticks to the
dark trail of hair on Dante's stomach. He bends his back and brings his lips close enough for me to
kiss. I do. As my tongue slips inside his mouth, he rams a single hard thrust into my depths. My
mouth gapes open even though I know I can't breathe. He sucks in my lower lip and retracts his cock
only to ram it in again. I choke on one breath, on one moment, and I can't hold back any longer.
I've stopped stroking my cock, but it's throbbing with blood and the nerves covering it are
overloaded. His mouth moves against mine. His tongue pushes in. I still can't breathe, and he
starts stealing what little oxygen I have left. His cock pulls back and I think, Oh, God, no, but
he buries it again. * * * 2 men rock their shirtless bodies against each other as a sea of other
men swirl around them, with only the metaphor to give them substance. In their center, the
relentless pounding from the speakers sends hard rhythmic vibrations through Alain and Dante. They
move together, in time with the sound, and their sweaty skins slide against each other, chest to
belly. Their separate denim scratches against their thighs. Only the crotches of their jeans
remained locked together, keeping their hard cocks, despite every motion, anchored concurrently
beneath moist barriers of hard fabric. Their hair falls in matted bangs, almost in their faces.
Every inch of them is drenched and you can't even tell that Alain is blond because the sweat has
turned his ashen hair to a dark, shiny brown. It's easy to tell that Dante's long bangs are black;
the sweat just makes his hair look slicker, more reflective. You notice they're both muscular.
Dante is just a little bigger. He stands an inch or two taller and weighs a few pounds more. Alain
runs his hands along Dante's lats, and Dante cups his palms behind Alain's neck, pulls him into a
deep and violent kiss. Dante licks a trail of sweat down Alain's neck as Alain's eyes turn over at
a stripper on the stage. * * * "7 years," says Dante, "is supposed to be the normal life span of a
relationship. I'd be happy to make it past seven months." Because of his lack of experience with
relationships and his heterosexuality, Brandon reaches for something positive to say. "You and
Alain have already been going out for six. One more can't be that difficult." Nicole ignores
Brandon and takes a different approach. "What's wrong, honey?" The three of them sit in a small and
empty amphitheater, eating lunch. Dante flicks a piece of bread at a sparrow and says, "It's just
that he requires so much attention. I feel if I turn my back once, he'll run off to someone else."
Nicole stares at him while she tries to muster more sympathy and fails. "Yeah, and?" "What do you
mean, 'Yeah, and?' If I leave him alone for more than fifteen minutes, he's grinding all over some
coked-up slut." "Dante, maybe this is your problem. Maybe you should give Alain some space. He
really loves you, and you know what they say: if you love something, let it go." "And if it doesn't
come back," chimes in Brandon, "hunt it down and shoot it." "Great," Dante mutters. "I have a
serious love problem, and all you assholes can come up with are stupid cliches." * * * 19 bucks
isn't a lot for a Saturday night. But what the fuck; it was only the first show. It doesn't matter
anyway. Some things are more important than money. That's right; I don't give a shit about the
money. I make more money doing porno anyway, but I don't give a shit about that either. It's the
experience that matters to me. There's something really spiritual about dancing in front of a whole
club full of drunken, whacked-out queers. I like the way the guys in the front row don't blink as I
pull the strings of my G down just a little to tease them. It's like that in a small arena. I have
more power than God. Of course that's not true, but it sure feels that way. You know, I used to
wait around for Mr. Right to show up. I used to think he'd be one of the guys on the dance floor,
and he'd come up to me, slip a hundred through my string, just an inch from my cock, and then our
eyes would meet. I realize it's corny, but I really thought our eyes would meet and then we'd both
know. Yeah, I know. Well, now I wait around for God to walk in and show me who really has the power
around here. What, you think that's crazy? It isn't any more crazy than waiting around for Mr.
Right. That's for sure. * * * 3 thrusts and I'm outside myself. I grip the base of my cock and dig
my fingers into my pent-up balls, but I can't stop it from happening. cum explodes from my slit,
and a guttural yell blasts from my lower throat. My eyelids clamp down, exerting pressure on my
skull. I can't feel Dante's lips anymore, and the taste of his mouth is replaced by the saltiness
of my own cum. I feel it fall, a burning hail, against my chest and face and tongue. The milky
raindrops subside and I feel my cum slowly drool out onto my stomach. I keep my eyes closed as
another blast of warm fluid strikes my cheek and neck. This time I know it isn't mine. * * * "6
months is pretty good for a gay relationship," says Nicole, "but, honey, you're gonna have to take
things slow. You and Alain aren't married yet, and you'd be better off if you gave him a little
space. So what if he flirts with a guy or two? So what if he even goes on a date? Give him time and
space to figure things out. If you two are meant to work out, you will." "Nicole," Dante asks,
"what would you do if you had a girlfriend and you found her chewin' on some other bitch's clit?"
"I'd kick the cunt's ass! But you and Alain are different." * * * 15 minutes pass before I begin to
worry. I leave the drinks at the bar and go looking for Alain. I walk toward the bathroom, scanning
the crowd as I go. My progress is slow, even though I'm in a hurry. Walking in this club reminds me
of swimming in the ocean; you pound your strokes against the waves, but the tide keeps pushing you
back. You can swim in place for eternity until fatigue drives you to swim the other way. * * * 1
guy dances onstage while a throng of men stand frozen below. He bounces his cock inside his
G-string and drops to his knees so another guy can stuff another dollar bill inside. Alain watches
the muscles ripple down the stripper's abs. He continues to press his body against Dante's to keep
him from realizing what's really up. Dante notices anyway but decides it's better to just say
nothing. The stripper turns his back and peels the strings of his G down and out from his ass. A
patron inserts a bill where the string had just been. Alain notices the smile on the stripper's
face, as well as a playful glint that suggests to everyone that he's just been bought. Alain
continues to grind against Dante. The erection in his jeans is obvious, but Dante's cock can't be
felt. Alain takes one more look at the guy on the stage and tries to remember where he's seen him
before. He starts to remember as he turns his attention back to Dante and grips his mouth in a
sudden kiss. He pulls back roughly. "Dante, can we rent a movie tonight?" "What kind of movie?"
"Can we rent a porno?" "Sure--whatever you want." Dante kisses him again. * * * 12 guys fuck
greedily on the screen and mindlessly synthetic music whispers through the room as Dante rolls a
condom down my anxious cock. We've lost interest in the video, though we're unthinkingly in the
process of mimicking its content, and I sprawl naked on the bed as Dante straddles my chest. I lick
his cock and whine a little because I can't get it into my mouth. Dante squeezes some lube onto my
protected cock and wipes his fingers along his own crack until they push gently into his fiery
hole. Dante finger-fucks himself for a moment and I feel a sense of triumph as I finally get my
mouth around the head of Dante's dick. But just as I do, Dante pulls back and pushes my cock into
his ass. My disappointed whine is quickly swapped with an unexpected moan of rapture. * * * 17 boys
gave me their numbers tonight. I think that's pathetic. I can't stand it when they chase after me
because they think I'm some god. I'm a fucking porn star and a stripper and an occasional hustler,
and they only want me because they believe I'm some super-stud.

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 You know what a stud is? A stud is
a man who's young, buff, and beautiful, and only good for one thing: fucking. I'd like to think I'm
good at more than just fucking, but just try to convince my audience of that! They want me either
because they think they can buy me or because they think they deserve me. I go for it, but every
time I end up asking myself, what is it that I deserve? * * * 16 bucks is a lot to pay for two
beers and a couple of shots, but it really isn't too important. Alain and I never go out much, at
least not to clubs. So, I'm waiting patiently by the front bar for Alain to come back. I look at my
watch, strain to see the long hand in the darkness. It's been over ten minutes. I look into the
dense sea of boys on the dance floor and worry. After a few more nervous minutes, I ask the
bartender to watch the drinks while I track down my boyfriend. * * * 10 inches of pure cock jut out
at Alain as he pulls the sweaty G-string down past a set of freshly shaven balls. It's a beautiful
sight, and Alain runs his lips along its length until he tastes the musky flavor of the stripper's
nuts. He pulls back, opens his mouth, lets the cockhead bounce against his tongue. He flicks that
tongue against the underside of it a few times before he swallows the stripper's cock whole. It
nudges back his tonsils, but he subdues his gag reflex and slowly eases back, relaxing his throat
into a more comfortable position. The stripper moans; his breathing is hard and controlled. Alain
takes pride in that. It's as if each contraction of the stripper's diaphragm has a purpose and, if
not for concentration, Alain might make this man forget to breathe. He doesn't have much time, so
Alain quickly pulls his head up and down the shaft of the stripper's cock. He keeps his throat
tight and his lips firm, and he rotates his head from side to side to increase the stripper's
pleasure. Using this method doesn't take long; less than five minutes later, the stripper pulls his
cock out and blasts numerous strips of cum onto the floor. The club music can barely be heard in
this dingy "dressing room." Alain climbs to his feet, and the stripper kisses him. He smiles, says,
"My name's Jeff. What's yours?" "Alain." Alain strains to hear the song playing beyond the
black-painted door, but he's lost track of how many songs have passed. Alain kisses Jeff again and
hurries out the door, anxious to get back to Dante before he realizes that something's up. * * * 5
buttons is all it takes before men start waving dollar bills at him. He turns his back to them and
unfastens the remainder. He looks over his shoulder and drops one side of his shirt. The guys go
crazy. It isn't the sight of his flesh that ignites their libidos; it's the lusty glint in Jeff's
eyes that gets to them. It's the promise that they'll get something more for their dollar than a
flash of his pecs or a close-up of his thigh. His eyes tell them they'll get a lot more, and that's
how Jeff gets his tips. Not from showing flesh or putting out, but from making promises he doesn't
intend to keep. * * * "20 minutes!" Dante raises his wrist so that Alain can see the incoherent
symbols on his Fossil. "You're telling me it took you twenty minutes to find your way to the
fucking bathroom!" Alain stands at the urinal, staring blankly at Dante. He tries to forget that
the bathroom is crowded and that every queen in there is watching. "Well," he says softly, eyes
wide open and lower lip pushed slightly forward, "there was a long line." He lowers his head a
little but keeps staring directly into Dante's eyes. "I asked you to come with me. You could have
held my cock for me while I pissed." Alain looks down into the urinal, and his cock is already
half-stiff. Dante steps behind him, reaches around, taking Alain's cock into his hand. "I'm sorry,
baby. I missed you." "I missed you too. Why didn't you come with me?" "I wanted to get us some
drinks." "Did you?" Alain rolls his head back on Dante's shoulder and smiles: he can feel Dante's
denim-clad erection pressed against his ass. "Yeah. They're waiting up front," whispers Dante.
"Cool. Sweetie, will you shake it for me?" Dante grabs firmly at the base and flicks a few last
drops of piss off the end with a series of quick spasms. He runs his hand along the cock twice
before putting it back in its Calvin Klein home. * * * 11 guys crowd around Jeff as he leaves the
stage. He pushes past them, always smiling, and heads for the dressing room door. He winks at the
security guard as he enters the safety zone. Inside, he falls into a soft chair, wipes the sweat
off his chest. It won't be long before he has to go back out again, so he stands up and roots
through his stuff until he finds his next outfit. He pauses momentarily as he watches the black
door open in the mirror's grungy reflection. * * * 4 men lie on the ground in a circle, sucking
each other's cocks. I slump back against the headboard while Alain rests his head in my lap. I
stroke his hair with one hand and lift the video box with the other. stud Farm. "Hey, Alain, isn't
that the stripper from the club tonight?" I say. "Yeah--that's Jeff Kane." "You know, they should
have at least titled this stud Ranch. It would have sounded better." "I don't think the producers
cared. Besides, there's probably already a Stud Ranch." "Even so, there's nothing innovative about
the narrative." Alain sits up. "What?" "There's no disruption of anything. It's just a repeat
performance of all the porno movies in the past." Alain laughs. "I don't think the producers cared
about that, either." "They should," I reply dryly. Alain continues to laugh until he kisses me
gently. "I love it when you talk like that. Post-structuralism really turns me on." "Do you love
me, Alain?" The mood seems to change into something more serious. The ass-pounding image of Jeff on
the screen transforms into random images of light, and the grunts and groans mix with the tacky
music, forming something inaudible and unimportant. Alain lowers himself onto my chest. "I fucking
love you, Dante." I don't respond, and I can tell that Alain feels an abstract tightening in his
chest. He looks past the reflections of light in my dark eyes, and the full importance of the
moment impresses itself on him. "Dante, I love you." He kisses me slowly, with caution. "I love you
too, Alain." * * * 13 beers seem to bounce inside Alain's bladder even though he only drank three.
"Dante, I gotta go piss. I feel like I just finished off half a case." Dante stops dancing and
kisses him on the forehead. "You better go then." "Do you wanna come with me?" "No--you go ahead."
* * * "18 years from now, you're gonna look at me and say, 'Nicole, you were right,' and then you
and Alain are gonna invite me to your place in the mountains to spend Christmas with you and your
kids." "Nicole, we're all gonna be really fucking old in eighteen years. I don't think it'll matter
whether Alain and I are still together 'cause by then we'll both be too old to even get it up."
"There are some things more important than sex, Dante. And besides, you guys can get those
inflatable implant things." "Oh, that's a nice picture, Nicole! Alain and I squeezing each other's
nuts to pump up. Hell! sucking cock would probably make my dentures slip." Catching his cue,
Brandon blurts, "You should probably take them out. It'd be a lot easier that way." * * * 14 men
stand in line in front of Alain. There are more inside the bathroom, but he can't see them. He
leans against the wall as the stripper walks past him, covered in sweat, still wearing that
zebra-striped G-string. Some guys follow him, but when he brushes past a security guard and
disappears behind a door, they turn away. A bottle crashes at the other end of the hall. The
security guard runs past Alain toward a fight in the process of breaking out. Alain looks back at
the defenseless door and imagines walking in there and begging the stripper to let him suck his
cock. Dante would never know, and maybe the stripper might want to see him again. Alain stares at
the door another moment, before the line in front of him moves a bit as men exit the restroom to
check out the fight. Alain turns away from the door and steps inside the restroom to wait his turn.
* * * 8 inches of his lover's cock slide into Dante's ass as he lowers himself down until his balls
press against the flat of my abs. The television casts an eerie glow on Dante's skin; the abstract
flashing makes him look like a spirit or even an angel as he raises and lowers himself on my eager
cock. Dante looks like he's in ecstasy as he pushes his ass all the way down my length. He tells me
how much he loves the feel of me inside him. He grinds on my erection, and his own cock points
stiffly in the air. I massage his chest and abs, and take his cock into my hand and stroke it
gently. I can feel the pre-cum ooze out and slick my palm as I twist my hand around the head.
"You're cock feels so good up my ass, Alain." "You're so hot, Dante. Your ass is so hot." "Oh,
fuck, Alain! Fuck!" "I love you, Dante. I really fucking love you." Dante reaches down by his calf
and grabs another rubber. "Don't cum yet," he tells me. He takes his cock from me and strokes its
impressive length a few times. "I really want to fuck you back. I want to pound you with my big ol'
cock." I smile, and Dante tears open the package. "Anytime, Dante. Anytime." 

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